


Old Soul for a New World

by karrenia_rune



Category: Novels-Jack Mckinney, Robotech
Genre: Free Will, Freedom, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at the character of Zor Prime, his time spent with the members of the 15th squadron and his choosing to forge his own path, as a person with free will even as he attempts to reconcile his past with  his present. This is set during volume #7-9 of the Jack McKinney novel-verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Soul for a New World

**Author's Note:**

> With much gratitude to my beta reader effex, for the comments and the encouragement, and for helping make this a better story.

Disclaimer: The Southern Cross story arc from the Jack McKinney Robotech Novels are the property of their respective creators etc. As are all of the characters who appear here or are mentioned. 

 

“Old Soul for a New World"

I was told by those who questioned me after I was shot down and taken into custody that my mind requires time to heal from the post tramuatic stress and the fact that I have an almost scizophrenic type of amensia. My placement with the troopers of the 15th Armored Tactical Squadron is a calculated risk. Also, that I am supposed to keep a journal of my reflections.

I am told that doing so will be theruapetic, that it will be a first step in recovering my lost memories. All the same, I am not entirely certain I want those memories restored. It as if, the thoughts and emotions of two very different and warring indvidual dwell within this fractured head of mine.

There is nothing quite so absurd yet, at the same time as liberating to realize that one has always had the right to free, and then relazing it at a pivotal moment. Of course there will always be the exhilaration that one could seize one's freedom with both hands at the moment the opportunity presented itself. 

For those who have never known what true freedom is, who have only known existence under the domineering control of the Robotech Masters, I imagine freedom as an abstract ideal.

The truth is, there are chains of all kinds in this and any other life. Not all of them are visible to the naked eye. 

That is perhaps the most important thing that those who sought to rule me and my fellow clone-slaves will never understand; that we too have the right to be free. If I could be free, oh, if I could taste what freedom truly is, only if for one day, what would I do with it? Would I pay that cost? Would I be willing to do whatever it took to gain my freedom?  
**  
The Robotech Masters thought to recreate in me in the image of the man whose knowledge of Protoculture had been thought lost centuries ago. In that, I believe that their reach exceeded their grasp. Even if I had been everything that the original waas, I would never have willingly given up those secrets even at the cost of my life.  
I mean that last with every fiber of my being. 

 

**

But, I digress, I don't know what to make of my current situation. It would take very little imagination to determine that they are not comfortable in my presence, nor I in theirs. But they are soliders and they have been ordered to put up with me presence within their ranks, so they do so. 

By that logic, I should consider these people enemy combtants, after all, not that long ago I was commander of the Bioroid pilots who served the Robotech Masters as both defense and cannon fodder. 

Those within the military intelligence of the Army of the Southern Cross who have spent the better half of a fortnight interrogating me, have come to one certain conclusion; that I am merely a casualty, a human ciivilan captured and tortured by the Robotech Masters. The hell of it is, even I'm not certain whether or not that being is entirely whole, or entirely sane, or if I am merely the sum of my parts. 

I do not feel any particular obligation on my part to disabuse them of that notion. They'd only be half-correct on that score. 

I have taken the opportunity to study these people, at a remove, and up close. 

I have to come to learn that they are so much more than I had ever imagined. They do everything with so much energy, so much more spirit than I would have given them credit for. Truth to tell, a part of me both hates them for it and grudgingly, desires that lust for life for myself.

Since that turbulent first meeting with Dana Sterling and Bowie Grant at the mounds, whos storehouse of Protoculture so obsess the Robotech Masters almost to the exclusion of everything else that this war has been about; flashes of momentary insight have come aga  
in and again to me, not as strong, not as overwhelming, and certainly nearly as blinding, but still they come. I could pass them off as nothing more than the hallucinations of a mind as fractured as my own.

I tried to ignore them for a while, and have partially managed to do, using the distractions of life in the 15th's barracks have helped, I've tried driving myself so hard that when it's time for to sleep my mind and body are so utterly exhausted that my restless thoughts are drowned out. 

And yet, these flashes come of their own accord, and I have very little power to order them or control them. I wonder, quite often, whether I am even the master of my own mind. It must have something to do with the Protoculture; eventually comes back to it, but I am neither prophetic nor wise, and I fear what the future may bring.

 

I can't remember what my life was like prior to this. Even as a Biroid pilot my life revolved around serving and acting on the orders of my superiors; nothing more, nothing less. I was the pinnacle of the their attempts to harness the secrets of the Protoculture, secrets believe to have been long lost with the death of my progenitor, the original Zor Prime, but nothing for myself.

I overheard something one of the members of the 15th say once: he was speaking in abstract terms regarding a piece of Terran musi that he was playing on instrument called a piano, but the expression has struck with me nonetheless, “He's got an old soul.” I don't understand the significance of the comment in context of the music, and while it is tolerable, i it is still very much alien to me and I lack the framework to fully appreciate it.for the very basic reason is that the music is alien to me, and while the and I lack the framework to fully appreciate it. We do have music of a sort among my people of course, but I very much doubt that it would even be comprehensible to the human ear.

However, I digress. 'I've got an old soul. If that is not true, what is?' 

Even now I am not certain whether or not my amnesia is not in fact a sickness that it masquerades as, or if rather I should consider it a blessing in disguise.  
**  
Something Dana Sterling once asked me has struck with me throughout the long dragged out course of this war,: “Wwould rather live in a world without surprises, the good and the bad alike?”

I did not have an answer for her then, but I do now, and yes I would. Surprises, good, bad, or indifferent have been the warp and weft of my life and I do not believe that fate is done with me yet. I would even take a life without any surprises at all if it meant I could live my own life, under my own terms.  
I honestly do not know what they make of me, or I of them, but I do know that it is not by accident that I feel more than a passing connection to their young female commander and I she to me. It is difficult for me to reconcile this, even for my own peace of mind.

I can tell by the smiles and the looks in their eyes that they do not trust me, nor I am them, and to say that it makes for a great deal of tension within the unit, would be an understatment

Their commanding officer, a young woman, is something of a puzzlement to me for she vacillates from confident to over-eager, to mocking and fliritatious all in a moment. 

The one maxim that I have adopted as true no matter what the circumstances it is this: Things are often much more than they appear.  
Dana Sterling is one such, both open yet guarded, fierce and loyal to her team and her cause. Quick-tempered yet compassionate, she has as many sides to her as there are in any geometric shape that you could name. 

***

I live in the shadow of a true visionary, one destined for greatness; the original Zor Prime was a genius: a man born ahead of his time and deterimined enough to see his vision, his dream through to the end. If not for him, perhaps none of what followed would have come to pass. 

Am I everything that he was? Am I even half the man he was? Or am I just a pale copy? A part of me strains at my soul to fulfill the protocols that the Robotech Masters have instilled in me. Another part, perhaps that rebellious streak that led the original to rebel once, long ago, wants very much to forge my own path, find my own destiny.

The masters love their triumvirates, the sheer symmetry of the world. I am forced to wonder, even as I sit hunkered down in the cockpit of the hovertank I've been issued, and ordered to stay put and out of the line of fire, if that instant shock of recognition with Dana Sterling was not as accidental as it had first appeared. Perhaps, I am making too much of out sheer concidence, but I could be a harbinger of something more to come.  
***  
Tonight I decided to go for a walk outside the barracks assigned to the 15th squadron, taking the elevator down to the ground level. As I went out into the cool night air I made sure to stay close to stay close to the building. by doing so, I wished to make certain that I could find my way back than out of concern for the possible repercussions of my actions.

For a length of time that I did not mark, I walked, taking deep cleansing breaths of the crisp autumn air, before I heard sirens in the distance gradually coming closer. For a nanosecond it occurred to me to run back in the direction that I had come from, but the feeling subsided as quickly as it had arisen. 

Armored officers led by a female officer in the Army of the Southern Cross approached me, ordering me to stand down as she came closer to where I stood, arms akimbo,. I adopted an expression on my face that could be interpreted as either confidence, or indifference to their open hostility. Let them make of that what they would. 

 

Their leader, a woman with a mane of deep blue-black hair seemed familiar, ordered me to march back inside the 15th's barracks. Once there Dana and the other officer, one Nova Satori by name got into a shouting match. Also, and this was only judging by several comments dropped by both women, that I finally placed where I had last seen her; Nova had been present at my interrogation sessions. 

I do not understand how both women have come to mean so much to me in such a short period of time. Nova for helping me bring back my dissolute memories and Dana in ways much more obscure, but both have done so that I can not express in any meaningful manner.

Regardless, it was Dana who argued most strenuously for my return to her squadron's barracks, under my own power, thus reinforcing the idea that whatever else I might be, I was not a prisoner.

For now, that rebellious streak, that voice is speaking to me, louder and louder by the day and it's drowning out the the imperatives placed in my mind by the Robotech Masters. I have to come to the realization that I am my own person, that I have my own destiny apart from the Masters or my progenitor. I feel that I must listen to that inner voice, that I must do everything I can to encourage and make it stronger, no matter the cost. 

I am so broken and flawed, yet, I am still strong, and I carry on.. I must. Either way, time will tell and until then I will study, I will learn, and I will adapt, but more importantly, I will survive.


End file.
